I Said I'm Not Going!

"I said I wasn't going!"

Back in the past—or rather, thirty years ago—I wasn't exactly the type to go out much. After becoming the Saintess of the Small Village, I spent the better part of a year practically holed up indoors.

As time passed, I gradually felt the need to venture out, and eventually I spent nearly all my time on activities outside. But now? Well, there's no reason for that anymore, is there?

"Haaahh~m. Should I order chicken today?"

It had been thirty years since I last saw Earth. And just as one must follow Roman law when in Rome, there was no reason for me on Earth to compulsively roam the streets. The me of Earth was profoundly, gloriously lazy.

After a short wait of about forty minutes, my delivery arrived.

"Thank you~"

I threw on whatever clothes were lying around and took the chicken. The delivery guy gave me a very quick once-over, but it was a look I was used to, so I simply ignored it. Honestly, if someone like me walked past me on the street, I doubt I could keep my eyes to myself either. In that sense, a half-second scan was practically restrained.

"Chicken~ chicken~"

One week since my return to Earth. I'd been rolling around at home all day, eating nothing but delivery food and other modern delicacies. If you asked me whether I was one hundred percent okay, though, I'd have to say not quite. I still occasionally kept watch against anyone who might come after my appearance or the blood of the Heavenly Race.

That was why I woke up at the same time every day, and why I always kept my Detect skill active within a ten-meter radius of my body.

Of course, on Earth, Detect was so weakened that far from pinpointing locations, I couldn't even tell whether it was actually detecting something or just a random tickle of unease at the back of my mind. But I'd grown so used ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to its presence that living without it felt hollow, so I kept it switched on at all times.

"Oh, it turned off."

My mana had run dry. Detect was a passive-like skill that barely consumed any mana at all—numerically speaking, it drained roughly one mana per hour. In the past, when my mana pool had numbered in the hundreds of thousands and my regeneration climbed past the thousand mark, but now it took nearly a full day of sleep just to scrape back ten.

"I'll turn it back on once it refills."

Careless as ever, I tore open the bag of chicken. Truthfully, it was pure habit—I flipped the skill on every time not out of any real fear for my safety. Modern society is remarkably well-policed, after all. I wasn't even going outside; the odds of some burglar suddenly picking my lock and coming after me seemed slim to none.

"Still, it really is popular, huh."

Since returning to Earth, I'd been swimming through the ocean of information that was the internet, carefully filing away tidbit after tidbit in my brain. The day I was suddenly transported to another world was July 4th, 2018. The day I came back was February 10th, 2022. The time gap itself was one thing, but in roughly three and a half years, the entire world had been turned on its head. Global corporations, markets, social attitudes, the media—everything seemed to have spun around a good four hundred and eighty degrees. Companies everyone knew, companies I knew, had vanished without a trace, while complete newcomers were suddenly battling for the top of the industry rankings.

And at the heart of it all sat a single game.

Devil of the Angel.

The company that had produced a virtual reality game ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠almost indistinguishable from actual reality in just three and a half years: Nutri Company. Some damn corporation, barely three years after its founding, had claimed the number one spot among the world's companies. And at the center of it all was that one game. You could honestly say it hadn't climbed to the top as a corporation so much as on the back of a single title.

Sensations nearly identical to reality, set against a medieval backdrop. A world where you could embark on fantastical adventures alongside dream races like elves and orcs! PvP arenas where you could show off your skills, and PvE dungeons to delve alongside countless companions in search of treasure. Even the true nature of the veiled Heavenly Race and Demon Race.

"Experience it all in a second world… The world welcomes you…"

Yeah, right. Something was deeply, unmistakably wrong here.

"Trying to seduce me again!!"

A pointless struggle on their part. There was no way I was falling for it. Thirty years of being wrung dry should have been enough—just how much more did they plan to milk out of me?

And yet, here I was, a full week in, doing nothing but reading about this game. To be precise, even if I'd wanted to avoid it, Devil of the Angel was all anyone talked about anywhere you went. Short of quitting the internet entirely, there was no escaping this demon. And I couldn't exactly give up the internet either.

"…The President attends a game match broadcast live on national television… famous streamer's real-time broadcast hits two hundred thousand viewers…"

The world had gone completely insane. Utterly insane.

Gulp.

"Not going."

Gulp. Gulp.

"I said I'm not going!"

A week. It had been a week. Would I really lose my mind and go back just one week after returning to Earth? I would never, ever touch that game, even if it killed me.

"…Just… once?"

But a gamer was what I'd been born to be. A game the entire world had its eyes on—how was anyone supposed to resist that? And it wasn't even some trash game; it was the GOAT of GOATs, wasn't it?

BANG! Beer erupted from the crushed can in every direction. Splatter. Some of it hit me square in the chest. I wiped myself down haphazardly with a wet wipe and tossed the can into the trash.

"Whew… no. Absolutely not. It's expensive. Virtual reality rigs cost a fortune."

That's right! In most fiction, virtual reality machines boasted such staggering performance that they ran into the hundreds of millions of won. With barely twenty million won to my name, where exactly was I supposed to find the money for one? Broke—that was me. Penniless—that was also me. But somehow I felt like I'd won a victory, and I snickered to myself.

And then I read the text sitting at the very top of the official homepage.

"…..."

Son of a—

"Delivery!"

"Coming~"

I'd ordered it. There was no turning back now—I'd crossed the river. Contrary to my expectation that shipping would take forever, the package arrived within two days.

When a Nutri Company truck pulled up to my tiny one-room villa, the neighbors craned their necks between each other like it was some kind of spectacle. I didn't step outside, of course, so my face never made an appearance.

The delivery technicians installed the unit in my modest seven-pyeong room. I'd expected it to be enormous, but surprisingly it was smaller than my bed—barely big enough for one person to lie down inside. Hmm. No wasted money there, at least.

After they left, I did a little digging and learned that there were actually capsule parlors where you could play DOEN—that is, Devil of the Angel. Virtual access rooms, technically. Which made sense; not just anyone could drop ten million won and up on a machine. Roughly seventy percent of players apparently enjoyed the game not at home but at rental facilities. The price was seven thousand won per hour. That was about seven times more expensive than a regular PC bang, but considering what the hardware cost, it didn't seem all that steep.

Which meant that whether I'd bought it or not, I was destined to play either way. So much for my principled stand.

The technicians took their leave. I offered them a brief word of thanks, and once the truck bearing the Nutri Company logo had completely pulled away, the neighbors drifted back to their own homes one by one.

I looked down at the small capsule, just big enough to hold my body. Its specs officially classified it as a small size, yet somehow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it felt as though it had been custom-made for me alone.

"Don't tell me I'll get possessed the moment I climb in?"

The exterior gleamed with a finish of black and blue luster, while the clean white interior was lined with a material as soft as a plush cushion. When I tentatively set foot inside, that pillowy sensation seemed to draw my feet in—an invitation, as if urging me, come this way, quickly. Before I knew it, I had slipped inside and lain down, and I picked up the manual that had come with the unit.

It was about two pages long: a brief introduction to the company and the game, how the machine was structured, and what features it offered. The company and game introduction held nothing noteworthy. I'd half hoped to glean some useful intelligence, but it was all perfectly mundane—just the usual marketing for a capsule built purely for gaming. None of the company personnel were anyone I would have recognized, either.

The features numbered two: a red start button mounted on the inside, and a blue escape button that could be pressed to exit at any time. In the event of a power outage, a signal would transmit from within the game, backup power would kick in, and if even the backup ran dry, a forced logout would trigger. For a virtual reality game, it seemed they'd accounted for a reasonable margin of safety.

Lying down, I peered downward. I couldn't see past my own chest. Being unable to view your lower body mid-combat is extremely dangerous, which is why I'd once used a clairvoyant sight that pierced straight through my own flesh—but I lacked the capacity to sustain such a skill now.

I pressed the start button. With a low hum, a strangely patterned blue membrane rose up around me, and after a brief moment of darkness, a field of blue windows filled my vision.

I took a light, steadying breath.

Just a quick ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look. I'd pop in, look around for a moment, and come right back out. That was all. Yes—I hadn't lost yet. I was simply entering enemy territory to gather intelligence on the enemy, that's all. Besides, virtual reality or not, how real could it possibly be? At absolute best, it would reproduce senses like touch, smell, and hearing—but there was no way it could deliver true sixth-sense perception or the extrasensory awareness only reality itself could offer.